


Worm.

by mootbellamy



Category: Franz Ferdinand (Band)
Genre: Worms
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-16
Updated: 2018-09-16
Packaged: 2019-07-13 04:08:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16009988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mootbellamy/pseuds/mootbellamy
Summary: Nick McCarthy is a worm. He eats dirt. He lives in the dirt. But he’s also a musician. He has to choose Dirt or Music.





	1. Worm 1

**Author's Note:**

> this is a joke (sorta)

Nick McCarthy is a worm. A notorious worm at that. He loves dirt. He eats the dirt. It’s good!!

But Nick is in a band so he’s not supposed to eat dirt. He’s supposed to eat human food and beer like the Bavarian Sausage he is. His friends (also in a band) don’t want him eating dirt because it makes a mess in the studio. He still brings in dirt.

They are all in the studio. They have to make a new album because that’s what bands do. Nick walks in with a cup filled with dirt. Alex frowns.

“I don’t want your dirt in my studio,” he complained.

“It’s just dirt,” Nick said. He made the ‘:-)’ face.

“It makes a mess. How am I supposed to do my drum things if you’re making a mess with dirt?” Paul was also upset with the dirt. 

“Why do you even eat dirt in the first place,” Bob asked. He wasn’t as upset by the dirt as everyone else, but he was still concerned. 

“I just really like dirt,” Nick smiled. He was still making the ‘:-)’ face.

“If you’re just going to bring dirt in here every time we come to the studio, you might as well leave with it,” Alex spat. Like he literally spat. Nick frowned at it. He never frowned. Worms don’t frown.

Nick put the cup of dirt on a table. He sat in a chair and looked at it. Why can’t he be in a band and eat dirt?

Paul grabbed the cup of dirt from the table. He opened a window, and tossed the cup out of it. He closed the window and sat back at his drums like nothing happened. They all grabbed their instruments, including Nick. They played for a while. But Nick was still frowning.

They were halfway through recording a song and suddenly Nick stopped playing. He put his guitar down and walked out of the studio. Everyone kept playing.

Nick walked outside and saw the discarded cup. The dirt had spilled all over the ground. He could still recover it.

He approached the dirt and sat beside it. He ate some of it. It was good. He wasn’t frowning anymore.

From the window, they all watched him eat dirt. They said nothing. After an hour, they left the studio, where Nick was still outside eating dirt. Nobody said anything to him.

The next morning, they all showed up at the studio. Everyone was there besides Nick.

“Let’s just record without him. We can just add his guitar parts after,” Paul said.

“He knows he’s supposed to be here. So where is he then?” Alex huffed.

“Outside,” Bob said. He was standing by the window. They all gathered to the window and looked to see the pile of dirt and cup Paul had thrown was still there. And beside it was Nick. He had never left. He was still eating the dirt. And he was still making the ‘:-)’ face. 

They all went outside. The man was laying in the dirt, eating it. Nick was talking to someone, but they didn’t see anyone around.

“Who are you talking to?” Bob asked.

“Oh, this is my friend here,” Nick pointed at the ground. They saw nothing. They looked closer. There wasn’t just nothing. There was a worm.

“You’re talking to a worm?” Alex asked as if it was something unusual.

“Yeah!”

“About what?”

“I told him about my cat,” Nick smiled. He made the ‘:-)’ face.

“You have a cat?” Paul asked.

“Well, I don’t, but I like to think I do,” Nick still smiled. He continued talking to the worm about his non-existent cat in very broken English.

They all looked at each other. They didn’t understand him. So they all left Nick in the dirt to talk to the worm, while they went into the studio. They recorded a few songs. Without him. After recording, they all went home. Besides Nick. He stayed there, in the dirt, with his ‘friend.’ They talked about cats and dirt.

This was now their third day recording. They had spent a while in the studio. Nick hadn’t. Lots of songs had been recorded by then. Nick didn’t know that.

They were all in the studio. They stood by the window. Nick was still there in the dirt. He hadn’t moved for three days. They ignored him and recorded a few songs. When they were done, they all went home. Nick stayed.

This repeated for the next few days. It had been a week. Nick hadn’t moved. He had remained in the dirt the entire time. He talked to no one as he ate his dirt. It was good.

This day was different. No one showed up to the studio like usual. And the sky was very grey.

Nick was laid in the dirt, lying beside the worm he had seen before. He looked at it and smiled.

“Hello friend!” He said in very broken English. The worm said nothing.

He scooted closer to the worm. They laid beside each other in the dirt. There was the sound of thunder and there was rain. Drops of water fell on Nick’s back. But he didn’t feel it because he has scoliosis.

The worm began to wiggle and burrowed himself into the dirt. Nick was confused.

“Where are you going, friend?” But the worm was gone. Nick wiggled in the dirt. He tried to disappear into the dirt like the worm did. But he was too big (not worm size).

Nick rolled onto his back. The rain hit him in the face. It was wet. The dirt was wet. Why couldn’t he just wiggle into the dirt and hide like the worm?

“Nick, it’s been a few days now,” Bob said. He had come there when Nick wasn’t paying attention. The worm (Nick) didn’t react. He was wet with rain.

“Nick-“

“Bob, I’m a worm.” Nick stated.

“No you’re not,” Bob countered.

“I am a worm.” Nick stated again. He didn’t know if he was saying that because he knew it or because he wanted to believe that.

Bob sighed. He walked away.

Nick laid there. The rain hit him in the face. It kinda hurt. His eyes watered. ‘I’m making rain too,’ Nick thought.

Nick was alone. Very alone. The worm friend wasn’t there. No one had come to the studio today. Usually as he laid in the dirt he could hear the faint sound of music from the studio. It was the sound of music he had written. He couldn’t remember writing it though. He had written in what felt so long ago that the music was foreign to him now. A lot of things were foreign to him now. Everything’s foreign to you when you’re a worm.

Being a worm gives you a lot of time to yourself. It gives you time to think. In the moments he was able to produce coherent thoughts, he made a realization. He was a musician. He was a Bavarian Sausage. He was in a band. But he was also a worm. He was a dirt-eating scoliosis bitch. Could he be both? He wasn’t sure. He had to choose what he really was. It’s hard to make music when all you do is eat dirt.

He had to pick; Dirt, or Music?

He spent a lot of time thinking. Or at least trying to think. It’s hard to think when all you eat is dirt. But he came to a decision.

The next day, they returned to the studio. But ‘they’ included someone else. And it wasn’t Nick.

A tall man accompanied his band friends into the studio. He couldn’t see much of his face. Eating dirt over a long period of time resulted in poor vision. But he was able to make out some features. He was tall. He had curly hair. He wasn’t a worm. So why was he with them?

As Nick laid in the dirt, he heard music from the studio. This music was especially foreign. Everything’s foreign to you when you’re a worm. Had he written this? It didn’t sound like anything he would write.

The worm friend that had disappeared into the dirt the day before hadn’t reappeared. What was he doing in the dirt? It’s dark in there. ‘I hope he can see down there,’ Nick thought.

The day passed. It was dark. Nick looked up at the sky. It was dark and hollow. Like dirt. Is this what it’s like to be in the dirt? Is this what worm friend sees all the time? ‘It must be nice,’ Nick thought.

He heard a noise from the studio. The door opened and they, including tall man, emerged. Nick could see light slipping through from the door and window. It was bright. He didn’t like it.

He watched as they walked away from the studio. He heard laughter. No one noticed him laying in the dirt. They sounded happy. ‘Am I happy?’ Nick thought.

Bob approached Nick. He looked the man. He was in the dirt. He had been there for over a week. But he wasn’t surprised.

“I’m worm, Bob,” Nick said. His English was even more broken than usual. He hadn’t spoke in a while. He’d been thinking a lot more than talking lately.

“I..” Bob started but he discarded that thought.

“Yeah. You are,” Bob agreed. He walked away. He disappeared into the group. They were all laughing still. It was distant now, but he could still hear them. They were happy.

The sounded faded. Nick was left in the silence. He looked to the dark, hollow sky again. ‘Dirt,’ he thought.

Dirt. He loved dirt.

Nick looked next to him. Worm friend had reappeared.

“Hello friend!” He said in even further broken English. The worm said nothing.

Worm friend wiggled. Nick wiggled too. Worms wiggle when they’re happy. Nick was happy. He made the ‘:-)’ face.

Worm friend wiggled into the dirt. He disappeared. Nick frowned.

He shut his eyes. He wiggled. He felt the dirt around him. It was slowly covering more of him. He continued wiggling. Soon, the dirt was surrounding him entirely. He enclosed himself within it. He ate some of the dirt. It was good.

It was dark. He couldn’t see much, but poor vision is a result of eating dirt anyway. The dirt was soft. It was tasty. ‘Dirt,’ Nick thought.

The night passed but Nick couldn’t tell. Any time felt like night when you’re in dirt.

The next morning, they came back. They sat in the studio. There were no songs to record. They had recorded them all. Without him.

Alex sat with Julian. They were laughing about something with Paul. But Bob wasn’t involved. He was standing by the window.

“Bob, come over here. We’re deciding on a cover for the album,” Alex said.

“We’re deciding between this one and this one. Julian says this one looks like a mess,” Paul said.

A mess. Dirt is a mess. ‘Dirt,’ Bob thought.

He sighed. He walked away from the window. They discussed the album cover. They decided on a black one with purple letters. It looked cool. It didn’t look like anything they’d done before. It looked foreign. Everything’s foreign to you when you’re a worm.

They left the studio. This was the final time they would visit this studio. The album was finished.

As they were leaving, Bob approached the dirt pile. There was ground and there was dirt. But no Nick.

Bob kneeled down to examine the dirt. There was a worm in the dirt. It was wiggling. It was making the ‘:-)’ face.

Bob smiled.

“You really are a worm.”


	2. Worm 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> it’s not over Yet

“Are you sure this is Nick?” Alex asked and poked the worm on the table. They were in Bob’s house. Bob had taken the worm from the dirt Nick used to sit in and brought it with him to his house.

“I’m absolutely certain. He was making the ‘:-)’ face,” Bob said. The worm made the ‘:-)’ face at him.

“Nick, is that you? Say something.” Alex leaned in close to the worm. The worm said nothing.

“He’s a worm, he can’t hear you. Even if he could, he couldn’t understand us. Worms don’t speak English.”

“But Nick spoke English,” he countered.

“Barely,” Bob said. Alex sighed. He moved away from the worm and left the spot he was situated in to go to the kitchen. He started making some tea. Worms like tea right? Nick did.

Bob stared intently at the worm. How could that be him? How did he just spawn into a worm? Was it really possible? He wanted to think so. Because if that worm wasn’t him, where could he be?

Bob took the worm into his hands. He held him carefully. He brought the worm close to him and began to speak.

“Nick, if that’s you, we need you to stop being a worm,” Bob whispered. “You can’t live in the dirt forever, you have friends and a family and responsibilities to t-“

“I thought worms couldn’t hear,” Alex interrupted him. He stood in front of him with tea he made. He set it down and Bob did the same with the worm. The worm wiggled to the tea. It poked the mug. It didn’t like it. The worm wiggled away from the tea.

“I thought Nick liked tea,” Bob frowned.

“Nick doesn’t like anything anymore,” Alex said. “Only dirt.”

“Dirt,” Bob said.

Speaking of dirt, some few dozen miles away was the dirt where that worm came from. Deep within that dirt, buried under dozens of feet of soil was a worm. Not a worm-sized worm though. It was Nick.

No, Nick never turned into a worm. He had tried to, but instead he just buried himself in the dirt. It wasn’t too bad though. You don’t have to worry about people and responsibilities in the dirt. When you’re in the dirt, you’re just a worm. And that’s what Nick was; a worm.

He squirmed in the dirt. He could barely see. The extended period of dirt consumption had demolished his vision. And the dirt was very dark. But he could see a worm wiggling nearby.

“Hey! Friend!” Nick called after the wiggling worm. The worm continued wiggling in the other direction.

“Hey, slow down, friend!” Nick wiggled after the worm. He followed the worm through the dirt. The worm led him to some other worms. ‘Worm!!’ Nick thought.

“Hey pals,” Nick said to the worms. The worms said nothing.

They began to wiggle away from Nick.

“Pals, where are you going?” He wiggled after them but he couldn’t keep up. They were too fast. He was too big. It’s hard to wiggle like a worm in the dirt when you’re human-sized.

Nick sighed. Why didn’t the worms like him? He was a worm, wasn’t he? He laid in the dirt. It was hard to see. It was hard to breathe.

He began to think again. Was he meant for the dirt? The worms wouldn’t talk to him when he was above ground, but they still wouldn’t talk to him even when he was in the dirt. He had to be doing something wrong.

Maybe he wasn’t meant for the dirt. Sure, he loved to eat it and lay in it, but he just didn’t feel like he belonged there. At least above ground people would talk to him.

Nick wiggled upward. He squirmed until he felt the dirt loosen and could feel warmth. His hands reached above and he felt the top of the ground. It was foreign to him now. He hadn’t felt anything but dirt for the past few days.

He used all his strength to get his body out of the dirt. He pushed himself up until he was above ground and coughing up dirt onto it. His body was very weak. The extended period of dirt consumption had deteriorated his muscles.

He laid on the ground. It was warm. He could see light. The dirt was dark and dense. Above ground was bright. He could move his body. He could see the sky and clouds and sun. But above ground he couldn’t be a worm. He couldn’t eat dirt. He couldn’t wiggle.

Nick crawled. He used whatever strength he had left to drag himself forward. He didn’t know where he was going. He just needed to go somewhere.

Nick dragged himself for a while. He passed by sheep and cows and goats. He greeted all of them. They said nothing.

He passed the band’s old studio. He wondered what they were doing. Maybe they had already started another album. Maybe they were writing again. Without him.

He passed by Bob’s house. He remembered Bob looking down at him while he was in the dirt. Did he remember him?

He crawled until he was in a field, far away from the dirt he had been staying in for weeks. The field had sheep. He would’ve spoken to the sheep but he didn’t have the energy to. He laid on the ground exhausted. From where he laid he could see the road, but no one drove on that road. He looked up to the sky. It was dark now. How long had he been crawling for? He shut his eyes. It was dark. Like dirt.

He fell asleep. He thought of his band members. They weren’t anything like worms. They weren’t long and they didn’t wiggle. They didn’t eat dirt. But they talked to him. They acknowledged him. They listened to him when he said, “worm!” and “dirt!” He missed that.

Some dozens of miles away, Bob was tucking the worm into bed. He still believed that was Nick. It was the only thing he could believe. There was no way Nick would’ve been able to survive in the dirt. He would’ve been dead by now. If not now, then soon.

He stared at the worm. He had covered him in his dirt blanket he made and the worm laid in the dirt bed he made.

“Sleep tight, Nick,” Bob lightly patted the dirt blanket. The worm said nothing.

Bob frowned. If Nick was a worm, he wouldn’t be like this. He’d be squirming. He’d be yelling. He’d be a scoliosis looking bitch. But this worm wasn’t. Maybe Alex was right; this wasn’t their worm.

Bob was taken out of his worm thoughts when he felt his phone buzz. He grabbed it and stared at the screen. He got a notification from twitter.

New Tweet from Alex Kapranos:  
“Nick’s dead.”

Bob scowled. He texted Alex immediately.

‘bad tweet OP.’

‘it’s nick’s fault. he left us.’

‘he’s literally in his dirt bed in my house rn.’

‘that’s not him.’

‘you’re having postpartum depression, alex.’

‘I don’t think that’s the right term.’

‘postpartworm depression?’

Bob was left on read by Alex. He shut off his phone. He looked at the worm one last time. ‘Say something,’ he thought. The worm said nothing.

Bob went to bed. He knew he shouldn’t worry about Nick. The whole band had been worrying about him for the past week since he’d been gone. It’d gotten to the point where Alex was so frustrated without Nick that he was hate-tweeting about him.

‘Maybe he’s out there,’ Bob thought. ‘Maybe he’s in the dirt, with his worm friends. Maybe he’s happy.’

The next week passed quickly. Bob worried himself sick about the worm. He obsessed over it. It was the only thing reminiscent of Nick at that moment.

Another week passed. And another. They worried about Nick. They cared for the worm. But nothing worked.

Bob woke up one day and approached the dirt bed where the worm laid. He pulled off the dirt blanket and poked the worm. But the worm didn’t move. He poked again. He continued poking. No response. Bob feverishly called Alex.

“Worm!” Bob yelled into the phone.

“Oh, worm?” Alex asked.

“He’s dead!” Bob cried as he cradled the dead worm in his hand.

“Oh. Okay.”

“This is serious. What are we supposed to do?”

“Bury it?” Alex suggested.

That’s exactly what they planned to do. Bob built a dirt coffin and placed the dead worm in it. Alex had told him to meet him at his house and they would hold the ‘proper Christian burial’ there.

Bob was on his way to Alex’s house. He had the worm coffin in the passenger’s seat. He held back his worm tears as he drove.

He tried to take his mind off of the death of the worm by looking around. That was the only thing they had left of Nick, or at least the closest related thing to Nick they had. Bob looked at the road ahead. Grass and fields bordered the road. He looked to the field to his right. He saw a vast field of sheep and grass. But he saw something out of place.

Bob slammed on the breaks. The worm coffin, which hadn’t been buckled in the passenger’s seat seatbelt, flew forward at the sudden break and was destroyed onto the dashboard. But Bob didn’t care at that moment.

He called Alex, Paul, and Julian. They rushed over to where he was. They all gathered to the field and approached the unusually familiar mass.

On the ground in the middle of the field was Nick. He was emaciated, his entire figure lanky as a result of nutrient deficiency from only eating dirt. His arms and legs were thin and his cheeks were hollow. He was covered in dirt as well. The corners of his mouth and eyes were covered in dried dirt and his whole body was covered in clumps of it, some smudged to his skin and some not. His hair was disheveled and clumped with dirt as well. Whatever color his clothes were previously was indecipherable as his entire attire was now dirt-colored. The knees in his jeans had holes and scrapes and cuts from excessive friction were on his knees. His eyes were shut in an almost peaceful manner. His skin was deathly pale. He looked like a worm.

“So, he’s not a worm?” Paul asked.

“Fuck off, he could be dead for all we know,” Bob said as he kneeled down to examine Nick. He pressed two fingers to his neck and checked his pulse, which was just barely there.

“I didn’t even know he was real. I thought you guys were just making this worm thing up,” Julian stared in shock at the supposedly real being.

“I didn’t know he was real either,” Alex agreed. Nick was a cryptid. His existence is still questionable.

“We need to get him something to eat,” Bob stated.

“Here,” Paul held out a bag of 9 and a half Cheez-its. He carried said bag with him everywhere. It would suffice for the moment. Bob fed the semi-dead worm the Cheez-its. He didn’t respond.

“I think he’s dead,” Alex said. He was probably right. They all stared at the possibly dead body that was Nick.

Suddenly, they saw the worm looking scoliosis bitch twitch. He rolled onto his back and coughed. They all watched eagerly as he squinted hard and his jaw trembled. He looked like he was about to speak.

Nick managed to say one word: “Worm.”

They finally all agreed to take him to Alex’s house. He would have to be showered and fed, and would likely have to stay with him until he was Not A Worm anymore.

They drove Nick’s thin body to Alex’s house. The entire ride there he mumbled the words ‘worm’ and ‘dirt.’

They fed him more and cleaned all the dirt off him. He looked a bit less wormy after but still appeared half-alive. He would stay awake for at most ten minutes before muttering, “dirt” and going unconscious again.

Once they had cleaned him up, they placed him in the spare bedroom. His frail body was tucked under the blanket and Bob stared at him. Bob was the only one who hadn’t left Alex’s house yet since they’d all brought Nick there.

Bob looked out the window. It was getting late. He pulled up a chair to the side of the bed where Nick lay unconscious.

“Hey, worm,” Bob said. The worm said nothing.

He sighed and leaned back in the chair. ‘What if he’s dead?’ Bob thought. ‘Do worms die?’

They do, he remembered. Just the other night he had tucked in the worm he thought to be Nick into his dirt bed. That worm had died. But now here he was, with the real Nick, in a real bed, with no dirt. And this worm was alive (mostly).

‘Do worms dream?’ Bob thought. ‘Do worms shut their eyes and see something that isn’t dirt? Do they have aspirations? Do they know about responsibilities? Do they see different colors? Do they even really think?’

‘This one doesn’t,’ Bob thought as he stared at Nick.

Bob had learned a lot about worms while he watched over one for the past few days. They were much more than worms.

“Worms don’t have lungs,” Bob said. He stared at the barely noticeable fall and rise of Nick’s breath in his chest. This worm had lungs.

“Worms don’t have eyes,” Bob said. He looked at his closed eyes and saw Nick’s eyes dance around under them in his sleep. This worm had eyes.

“Worms have five hearts,” Bob said. He stared at Nick’s chest. There was only one in there. This worm had only one heart.

Suddenly, Nick’s eyes rolled open. He struggled to keep them open as he sat up onto his elbows weakly and looked around. He saw Bob and made the ‘:-)’ face. He mumbled out one word; “worm.” Then his eyes rolled into the back of his head and he fell back into the bed. Nick fell asleep again immediately. 

Bob smiled.

“You’re not a worm.”


	3. Worm. 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nick doesn’t understand Human Things. Alex doesn’t understand Worm Things.

Nick struggled to stay awake most of the time. He would shut his eyes and fall back into a twelve-hour sleep at random times. Worms sleep a lot. So during these long periods of sleep, Nick had been having dreams. Worm dreams. Or werm drerms. Or weam dreams.

They weren’t very eventful dreams. All he would dream about was dirt. He loved dirt.

But despite making him feel happy, dirt had only brought Nick immense disadvantages. It made his muscles deteriorate, his vision blurry, his body weak, and his English speaking skills even worse than they already were. Why would dirt hurt him so much? He loved dirt, so why didn’t dirt love him?

Nick spent a lot of time in bed. Even though he had spent only a few days under the dirt, the bed felt foreign to him. He had forgotten how to Not Worm.

Within a few days, Nick regained some strength and got out of the bed a few times. He was able to stay awake for a few hours at a time as well. And in those limited periods of time where Nick was awake and capable of getting up, Alex used those times with him wisely. He spent it helping teach Nick how to not be a Worm anymore.

The first time Nick was able to get up happened when he had finally stayed away for longer than a few minutes.

Alex was sitting in the kitchen, staring at his phone. He was on Twitter. He spent copious amounts of time during the day to respond to hate messages and tweets about him by accusing the person of being a 15-year-old virgin. It was a crucial part of Alex’s daily routine.

But his attention was taken away from his phone when he heard someone call his name. ‘Worm!’ he thought.

He went to the room where he heard the beckon of his name. Nick was there. But he wasn’t laid in the bed as he usually was. Nick stood in the middle of the room, his thin legs shaking as they struggled to hold him up. His eyes were full of uncertainty.

“Nick, what are you doing?” Alex didn’t understand why he had gotten up in his current bodily state. Why would a weak worm get up like this? The worm said nothing.

Alex approached him and rested a hand on his shoulder and back to guide him. But where was he guiding him to?

“Where are you trying to go?” Alex asked. Again, the worm said nothing.

Nick stood there. He couldn’t remember the last time he stood like this. It was foreign to him. Everything’s foreign to you when you’re a worm.

Alex placed a hand on his shoulder and his back to support him. It appeared his legs would give out at any moment. Nick placed one foot forward and stood in an awkward stance. He moved his other foot forward as well. He did this again, and again.

“Are you trying to walk?” Alex asked. The worm said nothing.

He still held his hands nearby his body in case Nick stumbled. He was struggling, his legs still shaking as he attempted to walk. His eyes focused on the floor below him. ‘This isn’t dirt,’ Nick thought.

Alex was shocked to see Nick was almost to the doorway at that point without falling. He had taken his hands out of the way of him and no longer stood nearby to support him.

Nick’s face was emotionless but he was buzzing with feelings. ‘What am I doing?’ Nick thought. ‘Where am I going?’ That had been a recurring thought of his, even prior to being a Worm.

He was walking. Sorta. His movements were very irregular and uncertain but still he was moving. ‘If worms had legs,’ he thought, ‘would they do this?’ He refuted the idea, ‘worms would rather eat dirt.’

Dirt. Nick loved dirt. Just thinking about dirt made him happy. He made the ‘:-)’ face. He was walking faster now. Then suddenly he wasn’t walking at all.

“Nick w-” Alex attempted to interrupt his thoughts but it was too late. Nick had walked right into a wall. His face had collided with the wall and he was suddenly collapsed on the floor. Alex ran over to the limp worm.

“Jesus, why’d you walk into the wall?” Alex asked. Despite being like he was slightly hurt from the fall, Nick smiled.

“Dirt.”

Alex carried him back to his bed and ordered him not to walk unless he was in the room. Nick frowned. ‘I want dirt,’ he thought.

A day passed. Nick really wanted dirt. His worm dreams (or weam dreams, or werm drerms) had intensified. He dreamt about the dirt, how it tasted, how it felt. But dirt hurt him, he remembered.

He tossed and turned in his worm sleep. ‘Dirt,’ he thought. He needed the dirt. He hadn’t had any dirt since he’d gotten to Alex’s house, and worms cannot survive with dirt for very long.

Nick turned onto his back and opened his eyes. It was very late at night, or rather very early in the morning. Everything was dark. It looked like dirt. He closed his eyes. Maybe he could forget the dirt. He had lasted this long without it, hadn’t he? It was a conflicting matter. Nick decided to go with his worm heart’s desires and give into the Dirt.

He sat up and used all his energy to throw his legs over the side of the bed and rooted his feet to the ground. Just like the day before, he had lifted himself from the bed and stood. He moved a foot forward, then the other. He was walking.

Nick made sure he didn’t slam into the wall this time. He was careful with all his movements, making sure not to make too much noise or to lose balance. He tried to remember where the closest door was to get outside, which he guessed was on the first floor.

As he took his cautious steps, he paused. There was a mirror on the wall. He stared at himself. He had lanky legs and arms. His ribs and hipbones poked out from the shirt he wore. It was Alex’s shirt. ‘He gave me his shirt?’ Nick thought. He continued examining himself. His cheekbones were very prominent since he was so thin. His eyes were sunken in and looked cloudy. He had been struggling to see these past few days. He could make out most things within reach, but most things were fuzzy. His hair was scruffy as well. He frowned at himself. Why did he look like that?

‘Dirt,’ he thought, remembering why he had gotten up. He approached the staircase to go downstairs. He looked around. Alex was nowhere in sight.

He placed one foot on the first stair. It wasn’t too difficult. He placed another foot onto the next stair. He’d get the dirt in no time.

He had a dozen more stairs to descend. He placed his foot forward to continue but something stopped him. He felt a great pain in his spine. Before he knew it, he was in Full Scoliosis Mode and he was unable to stand straight. He wobbled and flailed and lost his balance. Nick found himself falling in all directions, different parts of his body receiving jabs everywhere as he descended the stairs in a painful way.

Nick had fallen down the stairs. He felt almost as much pain as the dirt had brought him. His back ached and all parts of his body burned. He shut his eyes. He saw all black. ‘Dirt,’ he thought. He fell asleep.

Alex woke the next morning. He went to make tea as he usually did. On his way downstairs, he encountered a roadblock. A worm. Nick.

He was laid on his side at the bottom of the stairs, his eyes shut and his mouth was slightly agape. He had bruises along his arms and legs. He was asleep.

Alex sighed. He stared at his collapsed friend on the floor. He turned around and went back up the stairs and left him unacknowledged as he went back to his bedroom. Alex was too tired for this.

Nick fell down the stairs. And no one helped him up.

Some few hours later he awoke. When he opened his eyes he saw an unfamiliar ceiling. He tried wiggling his body upwards to sit up but his spine hurt. ‘Scoliosis bitch,’ Nick thought.

Nick flipped himself onto his stomach and laid to face the stairs. He clawed his hands into the first step and pulled. He dragged his body and kept clawing up step after step. The scraping of his knees on the stairs and pain in his hands reminded him of when he’d crawled across a field and laid with the sheep to nearly die. That had only been a few days ago.

Nick crawled up all the stairs until he made it to the second floor again. He wiggled on the ground and pushed his body across the floor and down the hallway. He passed by the mirror on the wall again but couldn’t see himself from laying position. Maybe it was better that he didn’t see himself in his current state at that moment.

He dragged himself across the floor until his knuckles ached and the cuts on his knees had reopened. He was exhausted. He laid in front of a door and he shut his eyes. He fell asleep.

A few hours passed and it was mid-day. This meant it was morning for Alex. He woke up and approached his door to leave his room, but when he tried to open it, it wouldn’t fully open. He kept opening his door, repeatedly hitting whatever was blocking his entrance with the door. He stopped and opened the door to the extent to what it could and peaked through the crack. He saw a limp body. It was Nick.

Alex sighed. He pushed the open door forcefully until it opened enough and pushed Nick further into the hallway to allow room for Alex to exit his room. He was successful and stepped out and over the body of his friend. He frowned.

Nick was asleep. His eyes were shut peacefully but his mouth formed a frown. Small spots of blood dotted the knees of his pants and the material looked slightly worn. His hands were cramped up and twitching. Bruises were still all over his arms and legs. He looked like a worm.

Alex grew concerned. Hadn’t he been at the bottom of the stairs just a few hours ago? Hadn’t he fallen down the stairs? What kind of being would still have the energy to climb up a flight of stairs after collapsing down them?

‘A worm,’ Alex thought.

He kneeled down and secured his arms under Nick’s back and knees. He picked up his friend. He wasn’t very heavy due to his weight loss from eating only dirt. He carried him down the hall, down the stairs, and outside. He found a nice path of ground and laid him there. Alex laid beside him.

Nick woke again. He opened his eyes to see the ground and Alex. He was looking at him with furrowed brows. He smiled at him. Nick made the ‘:-)’ face.

“I fell,” Nick said. It was the first words he’d spoken in a few weeks besides ‘worm’ and ‘dirt’.

Alex nodded. He didn’t want to tell his friend that he had cut his knees again and bruised his body from the fall.

A worm emerged from the ground. Nick hadn’t seen a worm in weeks.

“Do you know him?” Alex asked. Nick nodded. He knew all the worms.

Alex reached to pick up the worm with his hands. Nick grabbed his wrists and gave him a disapproving shake of his head. He pointed to the dirt and to the worm. A worm should never be separated from his dirt.

Alex understood. He instead patted the worm on its back. The worm said nothing.

“Do they ever talk?” Alex asked. Nick shook his head.

“They don’t talk to me,” Nick said. His English was very broken and he jumbled up words.

“Oh,” Alex said. They stared in silence at the worm. It wiggled in the dirt. It burrowed into the dirt. Nick frowned when it left.

“Nick,” Alex said. He made a worm noise in response.

“Why can’t you walk?” Alex asked. Nick blinked. He wasn’t sure. He had been able to walk fine all his life up until almost a month ago. What had changed?

“I…” Nick didn’t know what to say. He had forgotten many words. Eating dirt had deteriorated his knowledge to the point where he couldn’t even speak English.

“Walking is funny. It feels weird. Not like dirt,” Nick said in broken sentences. Alex gave him a confused look.

“So the dirt helps you?” Alex asked, trying to understand.

“Yes. Makes me happy.” Nick stated. He made the ‘:-)’ face. He picked up some dirt and ate it. He smiled. Despite having fallen down the stairs and cutting and bruising himself just hours ago, Nick smiled. Alex smiled back.


	4. Worm. 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> oh worm?

Nick still struggled with normal activities. His legs still trembled when he walked and all he would eat was dirt. But he could walk better, stand better, and get back up after falling better. Alex taught him all of that.

Alex observed him. He observed how he tripped over every step he took, and how his speech was fragmented, and how he always had a lost look in his eyes. Alex tried to understand him. He couldn’t. But he tried to help him as best as he could.

One morning, Alex made breakfast. Despite writing an entire cookbook/food memoir, he had no idea how to cook. But he managed to make two (2) eggs and sausages for Nick.

Nick woke up. He walked carefully down the hall and to the kitchen where he smelled food. ‘Food,’ Nick thought. He’d forgotten that word from eating only dirt. Alex showed him to his seat at the table. Two plates were in front of him; one with food, and the other with dirt.

He stared at the plates. The plate with food looked almost recognizable. He didn’t want it. Instead, Nick ate the plate of dirt (including the plate), stood from his seat, and returned to his bedroom. He slept for the rest of the day.

This repeated until Alex ran out of eggs and Nick couldn’t walk anymore. So instead, every morning, Alex brought Nick a plate of food and left it on his nightstand. He would often come back to find the plate untouched. Sometimes, Nick would leave him a message in the food, such as making a ‘:-)’ made out of syrup on the pancakes. Alex would bring him a bowl of soup twice a day; one at noon, and one at night. He would try to feed him the soup. He would sing songs to get him excited about soup. Examples of such songs include, ‘Soup on the Horizon’ and ‘Do You Want To (Eat Soup)’. Nick liked the songs, but not the soup.

As a result of not eating, Nick grew weaker. He wasn’t able to walk like he’d been able to. He’d been making a lot of progress, but now it was going to waste. He was sad. He stayed in bed constantly. He never walked anymore. He had been gaining back some weight, but he was losing it again. He was a worm.

His friends visited him a lot. Paul would stop by and bring him cups of dirt. Just a few weeks ago, he had been the one throwing Nick’s cups of dirt out the window. Julian visited and said hi to him once. Nick didn’t like him because he felt like he was his replacement. And because when he came over all he could hear was Alex and Julian laughing about something in the other room. It made him wish he could walk again so he could laugh with them too.

Bob visited him the most. He came by almost everyday. He encouraged him to eat every time he saw him, but Nick often ignored the advice. He would bring him gifts to help him through his worm troubles. He gave him a sleep mask that had a customized embroidered message that read, “sweet dreams are made of dirt”. Nick slept with it every night.

One gift that impacted Nick the most was a pair of crutches. They weren’t just any crutches, however; they were worm crutches. Streamers hung from the handles of them. Bob had painted drawings of worms along them as well. They would help Nick walk again.

He tried them out. He stood with shaky legs and weak arms with the crutches under his arms and he held onto the lower handle. He used the crutches to take a step forward and Nick smiled to himself when he was able to move forward. Bob smiled as he watched his friend slowly step around the house with his worm crutches. The streamers waved across the halls. 

“How’s he doing?” Bob whispered behind his mug. Alex had invited his friend over for the day to enjoy some tea and encourage Nick to be less wormy.

“How do you think he’s doing? He can barely eat, now he’s stumbling around on crutches,” Alex grumbled. “Next thing I know he’ll be at the bottom of the stairs again, this time with those crutches.”

“Gosh. Does he eat at all?”

“Sometimes. When I give him dirt, he’ll have some.”

“Have you tried talking to him?” Bob suggested as he took a sip of his tea. They both looked to the doorway of the kitchen to see Nick pass by with his crutches, streamers following him, and a smile plastered on his stupid worm face. Alex hung his head and sighed.

“How will talking to him fix anything? He can barely hear, or even see,” Alex started. At that moment, a thud rang through the house. It was the sound of Nick walking into a wall. “I don’t know if he’ll get better.”

“He was doing great,” Bob said, “you just have to be patient. Talk to him. Encourage him.” Alex nodded. Another thud noise and a helpless yell was emitted from the hallway. Bob and Alex ran to the noise. Nick was on the floor with his crutches, still smiling like a stupid worm, and streamers were draped across his face.

Nick continued throughout the week to attempt to walk. He struggled to maneuver the crutches as his hands couldn’t operate well due to dirt consumption. He bumped into Alex and walked into walls and fell on the floor. He wasn’t getting much better, though he tried.

Alex nor Nick knew walking could be so difficult for one person. He had spent his entire life walking and just a small period of worm behavior set Nick back years. He barely ate, he couldn’t walk, he barely spoke proper English (however that had always been a problem). He was like a child. A stupid worm child. A stupid Bavarian sausage child.

An unexpected visit from Paul made a great impact on Nick as well. He came with his usual cup of dirt he brought for him. Nick consumed it within seconds, including the cup. With him this time, though, he brought a gift. Or perhaps a friend.

“A worm on a string?” Alex never thought he’d have to ask that question.

“Yes, it’s like a worm, but on a string,” Paul grinned and held up the toy. He demonstrated how the worm hung from the string and would wiggle with each movement of the string. He waved the worm around in front of Nick’s view who was mesmerized by the worm toy.

“Does it eat dirt?” Alex asked as he stared at the worm. It was bright orange and had two googly eyes that looked in random directions. They were just like Nick’s eyes. It was long and had a thick body and a pointed snout.

“Maybe. All I know is that it’s on a string,” Paul said. They all watched as the orange worm wiggled in the air. It was hypnotizing. Nick loved how it looked like him. It wiggled like him. It had the same unaware look in its googly eyes like him. It was a worm like him.

“I’m naming him Greep Grop,” Nick said. He made the ‘:-)’ face at the worm.

Neither of them said anything. Paul handed the worm on a string to Nick before Alex and him left Nick’s room. They stood in the hall discussing the worm’s current state. They weren’t sure how long their friend could live without food, and he was clearly getting weaker each day as he walked in his crutches. They weren’t sure what to do with him at this point. 

“Hello friend!” Nick grinned at the worm on a string. He wiggled it around.

“Do you eat dirt?” He asked the worm on a string. The worm said nothing.

Nick frowned. This was yet another worm who wouldn’t talk to him. He had hoped maybe it would be different this time. He rolled around in his bed to adjust himself to go to sleep. The worm on a string laid beside him as he slept.

It was rather late. Paul and Alex discussed through the night all possible solutions to helping Nick return to a normal state. They considered just putting him outside and letting him lay in the dirt for as long as he wanted. However, last time they tried that, they thought Nick died. Another option they considered was taking him to the hospital. But how do you tell a nurse that their patient is a sick worm? None of their options had any solid solution to Nick’s poor health.

Alex just wanted Nick to be happy. He wanted him to be able to shower on his own and have soft hair again. He wanted him to sleep normally and not have bags under his eyes. He wanted him to not get bruises from walking into walls and falling down. He wanted him to walk again. He wanted him to smile that stupid worm smile, but less wormy. But Alex couldn’t make Nick do all that. He had to do it himself.

Alex woke up very early one morning. He quietly entered Nick’s room and saw his friend sleeping peacefully. He would likely be in that bed for another eight hours. Alex saw the bags under Nick’s eyes. Even though he slept for majority of the day, it didn’t look like it at all.

He went outside. He saw the sun pushing against the horizon. Alex went over to the patch of grass and dirt where he’d laid with Nick a few days ago. He kicked the dirt beneath him. Why did Nick like this so much?

He frowned when he saw the bits of dirt he had kicked had a worm in it. It wiggled vigorously and buried itself into the ground. Could worms even feel anything when you kicked them?

Alex laid on the ground. He looked at the dirt. He ate a bit of it. It was bitter and gritty. How could Nick eat that constantly?

“Worms,” Alex said. He poked at the ground for any worms. None came up to see him. None of these worms used worm crutches.

“I have a friend,” he began, “he’s a worm. But he’s a very tired worm. How do you make a worm happy?” No worms were there.

“Do you worms eat only dirt? Why not fruit? Fruit is good. And it’s easy to eat like dirt,” Alex said. Maybe the worms didn’t want fruit. 

“Isn’t the dirt cold? How do you all see down there when there’s no light?” He questioned the worms.

“You worms have five hearts. What do you need all of them for?”

“Is it hard to wiggle? Sometimes I think it’d be easier to not have arms and legs like you guys.”

“Is there anything such as worm music? Can you even hear?”

Alex laid in the dirt the entire morning. He laid so long that Nick saw him there from his window when he woke up in the afternoon. Usually when Nick woke up, he expected to only see his ‘sweet dreams are made of dirt’ sleep mask and a dark wall. And Greep Grop.

“Greep Grop, what is he doing?” Nick asked his worm on a string as he stared confused at his friend outside. Usually he hated the dirt.

“He’s trying.”

Alex asked the worms questions for hours. The worms said nothing.


End file.
